Smile
by straitjackit
Summary: It was almost like his face was stuck that way – forever fixed by happy memories that never were… !Oneshot!


Just… gah!

Title: Smile  
Summary: It was almost like his face was stuck that way – forever fixed by happy memories that never were… -One-shot-  
Notes: Erm, kinda creepy. I originally wrote this with another character in mind (coughRaimundocough), but I decided this was more interesting. Besides, there's just too much Raimundo fanfiction (I am a Raimundo fan, by the way. Weird, huh?). I admit that I'm very unsure about this, so feedback would be appreciated.  
Disclaimer: See profile.

* * *

It was a beautiful day, he thought.

Wandering through musky halls, he floated along in an almost dream-like state, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. Small circles of light drifted through the windows, highlighting the dust in the air and bathing the passage in an ethereal glow. The boy, for he was but a boy, stopped suddenly, sniffing the air. His head turned to the right, allowing him to look into the kitchen of his home.

_Cookies!_

He made his way into the room, ducking behind the counter when he thought no one was looking. His hand crawled over the top, carefully avoiding the piping hot tray and snagging the top of the freshly baked goodness. Sensing victory, he ran from the room and stuffed the confectionary into his mouth, a small smile gracing the crumb-covered lips. Life was good.

He made his way back outside to the courtyard and sat down, watching two of his closest friends spar. The shorter, stockier one made a great show of leaping and jumping all over the place, attempting to dazzle his opponent into submission rather than actually attack her. Heaven forbid he _hurt_ his female companion. She, on the other hand, was screaming out her attacks like no one's business, shooting fire in all directions to try and slow down the fast moving 'cheese ball'. The boy watching laughed softly, covering his mouth in case his temperamental team-mates overheard. He rose from his position on the stairs and dusted himself off, opting to go inside for a nap. It was surprising how easily one could get tired when you did nothing.

He turned around and made his way inside, not noticing as the two fighters disappeared into thin air.  
He was oblivious to the fact that the arguing dragon and Brazilian vanished after he walked past the room.  
He didn't see Master Fung dematerialize when he crossed the meditation room, rubbing at his eyes.

Clay reached his room, yawing loudly. Ever since the defeat of evil, every day had been light and cheerful, full of laughter and joy (and training). A small part of his mind told him that something wasn't right, but an unknown presence smothered it, locking it away in the recesses of the cowboy's mind.

The boy didn't realise that the bright skies and fresh spring day had suddenly turned to darkness.

Clay changed into his pyjamas, laid down and slept.

_---Smile---_

"…And I'm afraid that's all I can report," the man pushed his glasses back up his face as he spoke, giving the larger male in front of him a professionally sympathetic smile. The man gave a weak version in return, before looking to the window of the door they stood in front. He couldn't bear to look at the boy, yet he didn't want to see the sterile walls, the drab hallways. He wanted to block out the screaming from the nearby rooms, to tell the occupants to shut up.

_This screaming can't be helping the boy! It's got to be making things worse!_

He shifted his gaze to look the doctor once more, his eyes pleading.

"Is there any chance he'll come back?"

The doctor resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The same question was asked every week and they would always receive the same answer.

"There's a remote possibility, but I highly doubt that he will ever recover. The shock of uncovering the bodies was too great."

The greying man narrowed his eyes, glaring at the hopeless father.

"He did _find_ the bodies, correct? There isn't any way he was involved in the murder? Shards of earth were found encrusted in the corpses-"

"My son did not kill those children! They were close friends, _good_ friends and Clay treasured them more than life itself!"

Beads of sweat began to form on the back of his neck. He was lying, and he knew it.

"And the old man? The other monks in the temple? What of them?"

Daddy Bailey took a step to close the gap and poked a finger into the short doctor's chest.

"My Clay didn't murder no one! If ya accuse him one more time…" he left the sentence hanging, allowing his expression to do the rest. The desired result was achieved as the doctor looked around nervously and began to shuffle away.

"Yes, well, I trust I'll see your wife next week?"

Without waiting for a reply, the doctor ran off to leave the man with his grief. His wife had left him after Clay had been put into the asylum, taking their daughter with her.

"You ain't raising this child no more, ya here me!" she had screamed. "Look what ya did to my poor son!"

Mr Bailey looked into the room one last time, reminding himself that he had to keep his anger in check, lest anyone discover the truth about the Xiaolin Temple Massacre.

_---Smile---_

--2 years prior—

It was a beautiful day, he thought.

Wandering through musky halls, he floated along in an almost dream-like state, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. Blood plastered the walls, dry and congealed like tar, pieces of flesh and bone jutting out from the walls, cemented into place. Small circles of light drifted through the windows, highlighting the dust in the air and bathing the passage in an ethereal glow. It also helped to accentuate the hollow features of the dead bodies lying in the way – old monks beheaded by pieces of rock, shards skewering their bodies and piercing their hearts. The boy, for he was but a boy, stopped suddenly, sniffing the air. It appeared that he was unable to smell the foul odour of rotting flesh and decaying matter, but having lived in it for the past two months, perhaps it was to be expected. His head turned to the right, allowing him to look into the kitchen of his home. He ignored the intestines that adorned the doorframe.

_Cookies!_

He made his way into the room, ducking behind the counter when he thought no one was looking. His hand crawled over the top, dragging it through the guts and gore that covered the tabletop and snagging the first thing he could reach from the stone cold baking tray. Sensing victory, he ran from the room and stuffed the object, a grey and green eyeball, into his mouth, a small smile gracing the slime-covered lips. Life was good.

He made his way back outside to the courtyard and sat down, watching two of his closest friends as they rotted on the floor. The shorter, stockier one made a great mess on the floor, his body spread-eagled and his face twisted in pain. She, on the other hand, was forever encased in earth, having been cut off from life giving oxygen and dying like the flames of her element. The boy watching laughed softly, covering his mouth in case the restless spirits overheard his mirth. He rose from his position on the stairs and dusted himself off, opting to go inside for a nap. It was surprising how easily one could get tired when you were insane.

On the rooftop, he was watched by a small pink figure, sitting atop a black and grey bird. The bean smiled to himself, pleased with his work. As he had done with Raimundo once before, he used the Shadow of Fear to infiltrate Clay's dreams, and the Moby Morpher to change form. He made Clay dream, every night for months on end, of watching 'himself' as he butchered the residents of the Xiaolin Temple with his elemental powers, letting no one escape. Clay had been able to cope at first, but eventually the dreams became too much to bear. He was ashamed and left for a brief while, hoping that it would stop the horrors.

It had only made it worse.

Clay returned to the temple, seeking counsel from the wise leader of the place. No one had thought that Hannibal Bean could be behind it, and nothing they tried worked.

Clay broke within 3 months of his return, and lived the nightmare. He immediately withdrew into his own little world, seeing only what he wished to see, hearing only what he wished to hear… He spent several months reliving the fateful day as it should have been, not how it had ended up, unknowingly surviving on the entrails of the Dragon of the Wind and their shapeshifting companion, Dojo, who had been left to decay on the kitchen table.

Clay couldn't recall the pleading voice when Kimiko fought so hard to release herself from her shell.

Clay didn't remember the shriek of outrage, tinged with sorrow and regret, that came from Omi's mouth as he launched himself on his larger friend.

Clay couldn't summon up the courage to remember the scream of pain he wrenched from Raimundo's throat as his head was shoved into the burning hot oven, or remember that his own hands had stained the robes of each monk with the blood of Master Fung's body, Dojo's internal juices or the remains of entrails from the other monks stuck in his fingernails.

Daddy Bailey, concerned that he hadn't heard from his son, had gone to China to see if he was alright. He dragged Clay from the scene (barely able to keep his stomach from retching), gave him a thoroughly good cleaning and called the authorities to alert them of what had happened. Clay had been put into a mental institution quickly, as he didn't interact with the outside world in any way.

The authorities put the deaths down to unexplained murder, unable to find the evidence that had rotted away with the corpses, and believed that Clay had been the one to discover the bodies.

The news quickly spread across the globe, the event being dubbed The Temple Massacre. Reporters flocked to meet with Clay, the only survivor, but were afraid to do a piece on him, scared by the ever present smile on the boy's face. It was almost like his face was stuck that way – forever fixed by happy moments that never were.

The world recovered quickly, taking their insincere sympathy with them as more people were killed, and the Texan boy was left to decay in his padded cell, only his memories to keep him company.

* * *

Erm, that was pretty random and creepy, eh? I promise you that future XS fiction from me won't be this weird or creepy – but after seeing all the fluff and romance, I had to do it! By the way, I named it 'Smile' because it's completely the opposite of anything happy – I thought it would be a good title. Tell me if you think otherwise.

Please review!

Yours,  
Straitjackit.


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